


say you'll never let me go

by hellatortoise



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Relationship Study, atrocious self-indulgent fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 05:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12500208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellatortoise/pseuds/hellatortoise
Summary: You never considered yourself domestic. Never seemed like a possibility. Never crossed your mind, even. But maybe one day you’ll wake up with Corrin’s arms wrapped around you, and maybe, even though you’re not good at staying, you’ll decide to do it anyway.





	say you'll never let me go

 

You never considered yourself domestic. Never seemed like a possibility. Never crossed your mind, even. Your self image is nebulous at best - you’ve never been one for self reflection - but you can say for certain that it never included burrowing into veritable mountains of pillows and plucking away at an embroidery sampler by candlelight while you wait for your man to come home. 

To be fair, the sampler is the word “fuck,” albeit in a loopy, calligraphic script. Elise gave it to you, to “help with hand eye coordination” or some shit, and a better person would have been appalled, but as soon as she was out of earshot you laughed so hard you wheezed. Now, you scowl at the faint lines and pluck out another wobbly chain stitch. You can’t seem to get the sizes uniform. 

It’s not a  _ bad _ feeling, per se - the domesticity of it. You’re warm and comfortable, and the light is bright enough that you can see what you’re doing, but not so bright that it hurts your eye. The window is open, casting a cold square of moonlight on the floor. You pull the thread through. 

There’s the murmur of soft voices outside, then the rustle of leaves. You don’t bother to look up as Corrin clambers through the open window, instead tying off a mostly neat knot and clipping the extra thread as he pads across the floor on nearly silent feet. 

“Heya,” he murmurs, nudging your legs apart so he can sit in the circle of them, cross his ankles behind your back and tuck his face into your collarbone. He shamelessly sticks his icy hands under your shirt. “Mmmm, you’re warm.” 

You set the sampler on the nightstand before putting your hands on him, a slow stroke from the small of his back to knead at the nape of his neck. He breathes out long and slow, then starts purring, a barely audible rumble you feel start low in his chest. “How fares our fearless leader?” You keep your voice raspy and low. “Meeting go well?” 

“Xander’s still a bitch,” he says amiably, and you laugh. He complains about the army for a while, voice low and distorted through his purr, as you scritch circles into his back. Contentment seeps through you like sweet honey mead, thick and slow and syrupy. Again, domestic. It scares you, almost, how much you want to make a life with him, carve out a space for the both of you in your crazy broken world. Staying is not … something you're good at. But somewhere between the first and fiftieth time your eyes snapped to him when he walked into a room, somewhere between the first time you cut your tongue on his too sharp canines and the first time you heard him purr your name you knew you loved him, tight and heavy in the pit of your chest. It feels like dying, almost. Feels like being reborn, almost. 

Corrin mouths his way from your collarbone to the edge of your jaw, slow, sweet, open-mouthed, the faintest promise of teeth scraping your skin making you shiver. He's sitting in front of you, thighs thrown over your hips, and you decide suddenly that that's not nearly close enough, so you slide your hands down to cup his ass, lean back and hitch him up so he's straddling you proper. He breaks away for a second to grab an extra pillow to prop up behind your head. Smooths your bangs over your forehead, cups your face and really  _ looks _ at you before kissing you again. The rumble of his purr tickles against your lips. You brace your hands on his thighs. 

And see, it would be so much easier if it were just sex, because you understand that - understand the give and take of it, the ground rules, the lines you silently agree not to cross. But Corrin, he's - he's not  _ just _ anything - he gives and he gives and the tenderness in his touches demands your submission. The way he melts you with his hands - it’s like jumping every time. A single finger on your skin can flay you right open. 

You’ve never been so in over your head in your life. 

You brace your hands on his thighs and breathe deep into the space between his neck and jaw, ground yourself in his scent. He lays down kisses carelessly, from your temple to the side of your nose to the corner of your lips, little bursts of contact. His chilly fingers leave cold trails on your ribs, the contrast delicious. Your entire body hums with the closeness of him. 

The fire burns low but in your cocoon of pillows, Corrin’s solid weight pressing down on you, you stay warm. You knead at the tops of his thighs and lower back and he purrs and purrs into your mouth, letting you lick between his lips in long slow strokes. 

And, of course, because you haven’t learned, you slice your tongue on one of his canines. “Shit!” You suck on it a bit and taste blood. “Damn sharp dragon teeth.” 

“You okay?” Corrin is still purring, not apologetic in the slightest. The tip of his tongue bleps past his front teeth and his pupils are fully dilated in the low light, leaving the thinnest sliver of red that almost glows. When you look at him full on he looks like a person, sure, but shifting your head the slightest bit casts him in weird shadow, and it’s moments like these that it’s hard to forget he’s part dragon. His hands are kneading your sides, and you know that if you hadn’t persuaded him months ago to trim down his fucking honest-to-god claws he’d be pricking you. 

“Just a scratch.” You grab him by the waist and roll him onto his side. He lets you, laughing. “Heaven knows I can take more than that.” That gets an eyebrow waggle from him, and his hands dip down your back, tips of his fingers brushing your waistband. 

You let him grab your ass but instead of reciprocating you bury your face in the hollow where his shoulder meets his chest, putting your ear right over his heart, so the low sound of his purring washes right over you. Feels a little bit like you’re an unsexy old man, like you’re losing your edge but….. maybe later if Corrin is still feeling frisky you’ll….. but for now…. you tuck one hand against his chest and the other around his waist and. Yeah.  

Corrin noses into your hair and ratchets up his purr until you can feel it as well as hear. Your weird dragon boy. Your weird dragon prince. You’ve never convinced him to wear shoes but somehow you’ve convinced him to be yours. Maybe one day you’ll wake up and go back to being virile and vitriolic, floating through life like so much flotsam and jetsam. Or maybe you’ll wake up with Corrin’s arms still around you, and maybe, even though you’re not good at staying, you’ll decide to do it anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> despite everything, I still somehow love this ship
> 
> i'm at sweatersenpai on tumblr if you want to come say hi, but fair warning most of what i post isn't fire emblem :O


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